Shawn and I did not plan to get pregnant with Grady. We didn't try to get pregnant. There was no longing or wishing or counting. It just happened. (Well it didn't just happen but you know what I mean.)

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When you are a woman of a certain age, the world acts like your reproductive future is open for discussion. When you are a married woman of a certain age, the world acts like your reproductive future is a given. When you are a married woman of a certain age, who already has a child of a certain age, the world acts like you owe them another baby.

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Grady and I go for a walk every day. The weather is cold and damp most days but he's 2 years and 4 months old and if there's one thing I will remember about 2 years and 4 months old it's that there is no end to his energy. We march over the tiny wooden bridge behind our building (the "troll bridge") and we throw rocks into the stream and we wave and scream "HI GOOSE! BYE GOOSE! SEE YOU SOON!" at every Canada goose that flies overhead.

Grady is all rosy cheeks and wide grins and he possesses that solid sense of self that only a child can possess. He stops and chats with everyone we pass and after they have oohed and aahed over the rock he's proudly showing off, the conversation inevitably turns to when I'm going to "give" Grady a sibling. The dainty, white-haired lady we see in the elevator tells me not to "let the age gap get too wide" while she gives me a weird eyebrow wiggle, every time we see her (at least once a week.) The man at Starbucks tells me that Grady needs a sibling so he doesn't grow up spoilt (after Grady sang a lovely song about hot chocolate that consisted of him shouting the words hot choc-o-late over and over, at the top of his lungs, to the tune of Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star, for about three minutes while the barista furiously foamed milk.) Random people all over tell me that Grady needs a sibling, a built-in playmate, a brother (like that's a guarantee?) and that I need to make it happen soon, the sooner the better, before we reach some undisclosed cutoff date where he would be better off on his own.

When I am feeling tired (which is all the time lately) I smile meekly and murmur some bullshit reply like "yes, you're right, thank you so much, stranger, for bestowing your wisdom upon me." When I am feeling feisty I look them straight in the eye and say the magic words "I have cancer" (with the implied "fuckyouverymuch" delivered with my tight smile.)

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It is easy to ignore strangers. To extract myself from an awkward exchange and walk away and forget. It is less easy to ignore the people in my life who know I have cancer, who know I struggled horribly with postpartum anxiety and depression, who still feel like they have the right to ask me about "baby #2." I am exhausted from trying to find innocuous ways to say "nope! none of your business!" I was raised in a very "mind your manners" kind of household and even though I swear like a sailor, I don't have it in me to tell people to fuck right off (even though that is exactly what I'm thinking whenever someone asks me about when I'm going to give Grady a sibling.) (I should clarify that if you are my friend, and we've talked about pregnancy or baby-related stuff, this does not apply to you. I'm not a walking ball of anger, ready to strike out at anyone who says the word baby. I'm talking about people who assume that I will get pregnant again and feel like they have a right to voice their opinion on when that should happen.)

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I want a baby. I want a squishy, wrinkly newborn. That desperate longing I never felt before I got pregnant with Grady? I'm feeling it now. I feel surrounded by new babies and pregnant ladies and tiny crocheted booties. That's not to say that if I wasn't dealing with the cancer bullshit we'd be hopping on the new baby wagon right away, but it would be open for discussion (between me and Shawn and no one else.) We would be planning and hoping and wishing. Instead I am just sad.

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I have been advised by my medical team to stay un-pregnant. I will be having treatment next year that cannot be given to pregnant women. After the treatment, my medical team has recommended that I not become pregnant for 18 months. Baby #2 is not off the table but s/he is nowhere near the table right now. I know that having an alive mother is more important to Grady than a hypothetical sibling. I know that I am so fortunate to have one healthy, lovely, spirited child when so many people are still dreaming of their elusive first baby. I know that Shawn, Grady, and I make an awesome family of three and if this is the family we end up with, we can consider ourselves lucky. I know all of this with my head but my heart still aches.